Andrew Gallacher: Snake Jaw

I dedicate this book, with special thanks, to Emily Kersing and David Jackson, for caring when I didn’t. Thanks also to the team at LegumeMan Books for their hard work, belief and making all of this happen.

Gerald Phalanx was six and unhappy when his family decided to move to the country. They moved north of a large town, by a lake that turned black at certain times of the year. The lake was one of the very few things that interested Gerald. He would spend a lot of time there during the black season, skimming flat rocks across the surface of the water. He loved the way the rocks would float and leave a little trail of ripples like a swimming reptile.

He didn’t get along with many of the kids at school, and showed sophistication above the level of his peers. He considered them country bumpkins.

“That’s an odd generalisation for a child so young,” his teachers would say.

“He’s never really been a normal boy,” Mrs. Phalanx explained. “He takes after his father.”

Gerald’s father was a vet who set up a small clinic in the country town. He’d found it hard to obtain clients as the town’s vets were already well established — the people weren’t comfortable with new business from the city. Gerald’s father shared his frustrations with his son and the two developed a partnership based on their exclusion.

When Gerald was older his father let him work at the clinic doing small jobs. Gerald enjoyed the sterile environment and his interactions with the animals. He said that one day he wanted to be a vet, which made his father very proud.

One summer afternoon a man came into the clinic with a pet python. The man complained that his python was more lethargic than usual, barely moving most of the day and finding it hard to capture and eat food. Dr. Phalanx took the python in, promising to study its habits and determine what could be wrong.

Gerald took an immediate interest in the animal, it being so different from the usual pets that came to the clinic. Gerald was allowed to administer its food and grew fascinated by the way it would eat, swallowing the mice whole. Despite his interest, after some days, feeding the snake began to bore him. Starving the snake was the next logical step towards an outcome he hadn’t yet imagined.

One hot morning, Dr. Phalanx was called out to a nearby farm to look at a flyblown sheep. Desperate for the work, he closed the clinic and left Gerald to mind the place while he was out. While his father was gone, Gerald got a pair of surgical pliers and removed the snake’s teeth. The thing moped meekly in his pale hands as he performed the operation with the efficiency of a surgeon. When he was done he took off his pants and held the snake at the end of his erect penis and let the reptile bite down on it. He helped the snake along with the process, all the while examining the expanded snake’s jaw. His heart beat faster than it ever had. He ejaculated inside the snake’s throat and then pulled it off him. He placed the python back in its cage and pretended nothing had ever happened.

When his father returned and went about his daily duties, he noted the missing teeth on the python and immediately called the owner.

“I’m afraid there’s something very wrong with your python,” he explained. “Its teeth have fallen out, it’s getting increasingly thin despite being fed more than usual and it seems that it’s excreting a clear fluid from its mouth.”

The snake was put down the next morning.

Phalanx gave up working at the clinic soon after, telling his father he had developed other interests. He would mull over these interests down by the black lake, skimming rocks over the water and watching the sun go down on the world.

Detective Gill sat at his desk and looked around the room. There wasn’t much to do. There was never much to do in Hopetown and being a detective seemed like a wasted title. There was a knock at the office door and the department secretary came in, a small woman with an old face and wiry frame, named Kathleen.

“Graham, there’s a lady on line two. She says her daughter has gone missing. Are you able to take it?”

“Sure,” he said, and put the call on speakerphone. He sat back in his chair.

“Detective Gill.”

“Hello, Detective. My name is Margaret Moore. I’m calling from Mount Baker. It’s about my daughter.” The woman sounded about sixty, her voice was frail and shaky.

“Go on.”

“Vanessa… that’s my daughter, she lives in Hopetown and I haven’t been able to contact her for several days. It’s not like her. I’m beginning to worry.”

“Would she have gone on a holiday without telling you?”

“I doubt that. She has a baby and I don’t think she’d bother with the hassle.”

Gill reached for a notepad. “I can go out to her house and see if she’s there.”

“I’d like that. I tried calling there, though, but the phone just rings out.”

“What’s her address?”

“Oh, wait, let me just get it.”

The woman shuffled through some papers.

“56 Herbert St. It’s near the park with the golf course.”

“Yes, I know it,” he said, writing down the address. “Where does she work?”

“She works at a bar. The Green something. The Green Tavern? I can’t remember.”

“I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”

“Detective?”

“Yes?”

“Please find out what’s wrong. I’d hate to think something terrible has happened. She’s such a lovely girl. And her baby is the sweetest little angel.”

“Who’s the father?”

“He’s a troubled boy, but he’s harmless. He lives out in Templeton. He has nothing to do with her.”

“What’s his name?”

“Benny. Benjamin. Benjamin Leeman.”

“I’ll look into it, don’t worry.”

He took her contact details.

“I’ll speak to you soon, Margaret.”

He disconnected the phone and looked over his notes. They were barely coherent scribbles. He was losing his touch — getting complacent with the detective game. Perhaps this missing persons case was what he needed to get back into it and get his brain ticking again. He stood up, put his jacket on and left the office.

“I’ll be out for most of the day,” he said.

“But what if your wife calls?” Kathleen said, knowing that at 2pm every day his wife called him and they spoke for twenty minutes about nothing much at all.

“Tell her I’m busy.”

“Okay.”

He arrived at Vanessa’s house a little past midday. The sky was overcast and the ground still muddy from overnight rain. The house was beige brick, coated in moss, paint flaked off the windowsills and the front lawn was littered with disused baby toys faded from sunshine. The neighborhood barked with distant dogs, engines started and stopped, screen doors banged shut and mothers called out to misbehaving children. It wasn’t a particularly good area and Gill had already begun to paint a picture of where Vanessa Moore may or may not be.

He knocked on the door and there was no answer. He strolled down the driveway to the back gate. He peeked through a hole and saw nothing but overgrown grass and a soggy wooden decking. He let himself in and walked up to the back door. He knocked again, and wandered to the side of the house peering through windows at dusty rooms full of unpacked clothes and more baby toys. He decided not to go in, as he hadn’t yet developed enough of a case. A visit to her work would hopefully answer some questions. He left the house as it stood and felt relief that this mystery was not so easily solved.